


St. Valentine's Day Massacre

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-20
Updated: 2002-10-20
Packaged: 2019-05-30 22:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15106169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Josh. Donna. Kinky sex before Valentine's Day & an Emergency Room.





	St. Valentine's Day Massacre

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**St. Valentine's Day Massacre**

**by:**   


**Category/Pairing:** Josh/Donna  
**Written:** May 18, 2002  
**Rating:** ADULT for language  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, never gonna be mine. Anything you recognize from pop culture isn't mine either. If it was, would I still be this deep in debt? Really, if you want my crappy ass job, truck payment and two emotionally disturbed cats you're welcome to them.  
**Summary:** 5th in the Joshua Monologues Series, Josh. Donna. Kinky sex before Valentine's Day & an Emergency Room. 

* * *

I have never been so humiliated in my life. 

I'm sitting in the emergency room at GW at 2 o'clock in the morning, on Valentine's Day, waiting to see a doctor. 

The guy across from me looks like his girlfriend smacked him in the face with a cast-iron frying pan.

I, however, think I broke my ankle. 

Having sex with my girlfriend. 

Who is sitting next to me filling out stupid forms and giggling.

"Will you stop laughing?"

Donna just keeps writing. She hasn't looked me in the eye since the coffee table broke.

I don't know why she finds this so funny, she was on top. 

This is her fault.

It's a half an hour before they call my name and Donna helps me limp back to an exam room. We're there probably another twenty minutes before Doogie Howser, MD wanders in.

"Mr. Lyman?"

"Josh."

The med student they sent to examine me is engrossed in my chart.

"What seems to be the problem?"

The fact that my foot is dangling at an unnatural angle and my lower leg has swollen to three times its normal size?

"I think I broke my ankle."

"What makes you think that?"

He finally looks up from my chart when I don't answer and follows my gaze to my left leg.

"Oh. Well, then. Did you hear anything when this happened?"

Other than Donna screaming 'harder, Josh, harder'?

She manages to speak up before I can tell him that.

"I heard a crunch."

Hmm, I thought that was the coffee table.

"You were present when this happened?"

Thank God she has the decency to stop giggling and blush.

Thank God the kid has the decency to not pursue 'how' part of this travesty. 

***

They take some x-rays. 

We wait. Josh whines about how much his ankle hurts.

They develop some x-rays.

We wait. Josh whines about how much his ankle hurts.

At 4 o'clock in the morning, a resident wanders in to tell us the ankle isn't broken, but both bones of Josh's lower leg are. Just above the ankle. He's going to set them, cast it and send us on our merry way.

It takes an hour. He writes a prescription for painkillers, a prescription for physical therapy, hands Josh a set of crutches and kicks us out the door.

I run us by a 24-hour pharmacy before taking Gimpy home.

"I'll be back at 7 to pick you up. You've got Staff at 8 this morning." I give him a kiss for his pain and suffering. 

This whole thing is probably my fault. If you think I'm admitting that to Josh, you're nuts.

***

They gave me a waterproof wrap so I can shower, but when Donna gets back at 6:45, I'm standing in front of my closet wearing a shirt, tie and black boxers with little red hearts on them, laughing.

"What's up?"

"I can't get my pants on."

The painkillers I took have kicked in and they are moderately helpful. Therefore, I find this problem to be hilarious.

"Put your sweatpants back on. I know a tailor who can do a rush job."

***

I promise Josh I'll go shopping for him at lunch and get some cheap pants to have altered. 

My friend Mort, the tailor, does a quickie job on a pair I hate and we make it to work at 7:45.

Josh left the West Wing last night at midnight. People stare at him as he hobbles through the hallways, probably trying to figure out how he managed to injure himself in the brief time he was gone.

I'm volunteering nothing. Not even to CJ. 

If she wants to know about this one, she's going to have to talk to Josh. 

Now I know I usually tell CJ almost everything, but this is off-limits. She'll never believe it anyway, not after some of the crazy shit I fed her after New Year's. See, we celebrated New Year's by falling asleep on the couch watching Dick Clark. Obviously, I couldn't tell CJ that. So I made up some story about us having sex in the basement of the White House. 

I didn't know Josh promised Leo we wouldn't have sex in the building.

So I got busted by both Josh and CJ. 

Josh seemed rather annoyed that I was giving her details, whether they were true or not. 

He did get over it. Especially when I explained it like this: what's the point of having an ultra-adventurous, fantastic lover if you can't tell someone about it?

Yeah, I appealed to his ego. 

It worked. 

Now, he wants input on what CJ gets to find out.

CJ, on the other hand, doesn't know what to believe these days. 

I think she tries to confirm some of the stuff I tell her with Josh, but he can be pretty evasive. 

Particularly when it's the truth. He afraid someone will out him as a closet romantic.

So you see, if I tell CJ Josh broke his leg having sex with me on the coffee table, she'll think I'm feeding her a line of crap.

***

Sam, Toby and CJ are already there when I finally collapse into a chair in Leo's office. The three of them stare at me. CJ looks like she might start laughing. Since Donna and I started dating, CJ has worn that look quite a bit.

Leo sweeps in from the Oval Office, the President trailing along behind.

We start to get up, but he waves us back down. Leo wastes no time this morning.

"Okay, people, it's a busy day today."

"Leo."

Oh, shit. He noticed the staring.

"Yes, Mr. President?"

"Why is everyone looking at Josh?"

Leo looks at me for the first time.

"Jesus, Josh. What the hell's the matter with you? What the hell are the crutches for?"

"I broke my leg last night."

Bartlet isn't saying a word, but has a smirk very similar to CJ's on his face. It makes me wonder what he hears.

"You were gone for what? 8 hours? In the middle of the night? What were you doing?"

I clear my throat, look down at the table and mumble, "Something stupid."

Although Donna thought it was 'adventurous' when she suggested we have sex on the coffee table in the living room. 'Let's do something adventurous' were her exact words. 

Leo decides to drop it when CJ starts laughing. 

I know Donna and CJ talk about our, Donna and my, sex life. It bothered me at first. 

The thing around New Year's really pissed me off. I mean, I promised Leo no sex in the White House.

Then I figured they would only talk about it for one of two reasons: it sucks or it's fabulous. 

From the things CJ hints at some days, I'm going with the fabulous angle.

CJ and I get held after staff. Gee, there's a shock.

"What happened?"

Leo sits down behind his desk.

"You want the details?"

"I would like to know how you broke your leg in the eight hours you were away from work."

"Why does CJ need to know?"

She slaps me upside the head. I'm wounded here and CJ smacks me.

"So I can spin your midnight trip to the emergency room at the morning press briefing. Unless you want me to tell the Press Corps that you broke your leg having kinky sex with your girlfriend."

I smirk. CJ groans. Leo pales.

"Josh, tell me you did not break your leg having sex."

I can't lie to Leo. It's like lying to your father. I stare at CJ when I admit it, though.

"Donna wanted to do it on the coffee table."

He slams his hands on his desk. "Oh my God."

"Oddly, they aren't as sturdy as you think they are."

CJ gets up. "I've got to go brief. I'll get the details from Donna."

That earns her a glare. She crosses paths with Abbey Bartlet on her way out.

"What the hell did you do?"

Leo excuses himself, I doubt he wants to be a party to this conversation. I can't lie to Abbey Bartlet either.

Once all the doors are shut, she props the broken leg on a chair, and starts poking my toes. Should my toes be blue?

"You know, Mrs. B, you don't have a license anymore."

I'll blame that on the drugs.

"Doesn't mean I'm not still a doctor."

She slides my pant leg up and prods the flesh above the cast, which is an unhealthy white.

"GW do this?"

I nod, then grimace when she raps her knuckles against the cast.

"Idiots. I'm going to give you the name of a good orthopedic. I am going to make you an appointment. Donna is going to take you. You are getting this thing recast."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Today."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now, my husband seems to think this is funny. Why is that?"

"It sort of is?"

Abbey looks me in the eye. I blush under her gaze and look back down at my shoes. Shoe. Damn nervous habit.

"Donna thinks it's hysterical."

"You broke your leg doing something stupid."

If I have to cop to this, then I'm blaming my girlfriend.

"I'd like to preface this by saying it was Donna's idea. That said, the coffee table broke. I had my leg wrapped around the leg of the table for leverage."

I shut up when Mrs. Bartlet starts laughing. 

"So when the table broke, you and Donna landed on your leg."

The Earth could swallow me whole right now.

"Which then broke."

Please, God, strike me dead.

"I can see why Donna and Jed find this funny."

***

I'm sitting at my desk, going through the mail when Josh finally arrives. 

The look on his face makes me laugh. 

He must have had to tell someone the truth about what happened.

CJ came by earlier looking for the gory details. I told her to refer to it as a household accident. The press would buy that. Josh is klutzy sometimes. He and Sam almost set fire to the White House once. Danny, Katie, Steve and the rest of them shouldn't have any trouble believing Josh tripped over his couch.

"You're mocking my pain."

"Josh, I'm sorry. But it's kind of funny. Who did you have to tell?"

"The First Lady."

Oh. That gets my 'sympathetic look.' 

"Sam's in your office."

***

The groan I utter is not from pain. Sam is not in the 'Donna and I are dating' loop. Sam gossips like a teenage girl, which is the reason the entire White House knows I stole his Scooby Doo boxers during the first campaign.

I slam the door shut behind me.

Sam's sitting in my guest chair going through today's Post.

"What happened?"

He's actually concerned. Meaning he has no idea of the circumstances.

"Do you have plans for tonight?"

It is Valentine's Day and I had made reservations at a Malaysian place in Bethesda called Penang. We obviously won't be using them now and I don't want them to go to waste.

"Why?"

"Mine have a crimp in them. I've got reservations for two at Penang at 8:30. Do you want them?"

I honestly don't know if he's seeing anyone or not. I've got enough going on with my own love life.

"Yeah, I'll take them. Thanks! Anything I can do for you?"

"No, just get out of here and go work. You know, so you can get out of here on time."

Sam actually prances out of my office as Donna comes in with her notepad.

***

The first thing I notice it that Sam looks awfully happy. The second is that Josh looks like shit.

I shake my head after the prancing speechwriter. Yes, he's prancing. 

It disturbs me, too.

"Dr. Bartlet got you a 9:30 appointment. I cancelled your day. Get your coat, Spongebob. I'll drive you."

He smiles a bit when I call him by the nickname. That's a good sign. It fades as we make our way to the car, but we do make it.

***

Well, at least I won't need new pants. The new cast is considerably lighter. 

I'm not supposed to work the rest of the week and he gave me some better drugs.

Donna drops me off with a promise to home at 7. That ought to give me enough time to make us a nice dinner to make up for not being able to go out.

I did not procrastinate for Valentine's Day, you see. I had Donna's present ready the last week of January.

Lily, from the First Lady's office, called me just after Christmas and said she had some pictures of me and Donna from the Vagina Monologues post-party. She wanted to know if I wanted them.

I had the White House photographer enlarge my favorite to an 11x14. It's a black and white of Donna and I laughing at something. Her hand is on my shoulder and my arm is around her waist.

When I got the print, I took it to this guy, Pablo, that CJ knows. Pablo matted it and did a custom rosewood frame for it. 

Spectacular is the only word to describe the final product. 

Disaster is the only word to describe my current problems.

The gift is in the trunk of the Audi, which Donna is driving today. 

There is no food in my fridge.

Evidently it's Wednesday and the grocery/cleaning lady comes on Friday. That means I can't make us a nice dinner, which was my back-up plan for not going out to dinner.

I was a good boy and took my drugs, which is probably why I'm not very coherent right now.

The sofa looks very lonely. I'm going to keep it company while I think up a Plan C.

***

I get back at 7, like I said I would. It is Valentine's Day and I know Josh had plans for us. 

I am also a realist. If he took the drugs like he was supposed to, he's on the couch in a stupor. I stopped for Chinese take-out on the way home.

The scene is pretty much what I figured. The lights are all out, the TV is off and Josh is sprawled on the couch in a dress shirt, tie and sweatpants, snoring softly.

There's even a pool of drool on the pillow.

It's kind of cute.

Dr. Bartlet told me how to check the circulation in his toes before I left the office, so on my way to the kitchen I do that. 

Pinching his toes succeeds in waking him up.

***

Donna brought home Chinese food. That makes me feel like a complete waste of manliness. 

I have completely fucked up our first Valentine's Day.

It was going to be romantic, sweet, memorable. It was. I had plans. Grand plans. I even had back-up plans.

There was going to be dinner, dancing, the gift, incredible love-making. Or macaroni and cheese and cuddling.

Eating cashew chicken and taking my pain medication lands me in the bathroom retching my guts out. My leg is broken, so the dancing is out; the gift is still in the trunk of my car; and by the time I get cleaned up, undressed and to bed, I cannot begin to think about making love to Donna. I can barely wrap my arms around her.

***

Well, this day has pretty much sucked. 

As I snuggle into bed next to Josh, I decide we'll have a make-up day. Once he can function again. 

"Joshua"

"Hmm?"

"We'll have a do-over day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I had plans, Donnatella. Grand Valentine's Day plans."

He's mumbling and rambling, the drugs have started to kick in again.

"I know."

"I love you, Donna."

"I love you, too, Josh."

Maybe this day hasn't sucked so bad.

Next: "The Great Valentine's Day Do-Over Date"

"It's a do-over," I tell her, wiping a single tear from her eye.


End file.
